The Answer

The worst about living in Brunswick, Maine are the blizzards, or rather, how we destroy what lies in its wake. A consuming atmosphere of exquisite, sparkling ice swept away by snowplows and salt trucks. Within minutes, our picturesque winter wonderland was reduced to grey slush. The crunch beneath my boots was loud and inelegant in contrast to the gentle leisure of the falling snow. The storm had cleared and left behind a slow fall like ashes after an erupting volcano.

A bell dinged above my head as I entered Second Best Thrift. The rush of warm air tingled on my skin, thawing the numbness gifted by winter. I needed a day like this: a day of treasure hunting to clear my head after the storm. My first stop was the knickknack aisle. I once found a unicorn toothbrush holder with a broken horn. A pink smile lined its face and it didn’t even realize it was incomplete and likely to be overlooked. I grabbed it instantly. Jesse loved it of course, such a sucker for corny things. But I wasn’t there to think about him and that day’s knickknacks were dull and lifeless: salt and pepper shakers, porcelain tea cups, once white lampshades now faded to a patchy yellow. No whimsical oddments to substitute ordinary objects.

Clothing was my least favorite to snoop through but I wasn’t ready to leave. I didn’t want to go back to an empty house. I hadn’t even cleaned up the broken glass from the night before. I left it for another version of me who could scrape it up without thinking of him.

I rolled my eyes at the skirts and dresses. They could only be worn two months out of the year yet they weren’t placed in the seasonal section up with bathing suits and flip flops. I scanned through some sweaters until reaching the coats. I undoubtedly needed a new one. Mine was three years old and the stuffing from the right shoulder was peeking out through a small tear. Funny how when the wind was strong, I could feel the touch of cold through the tiny rip. Second Best was stocked full of coats, as usual. Most towners seemed to buy new ones every season and dumped their used ones there. It’s where I got mine and if ever I needed an upgrade, it was then. A new shield, I thought. I studied each one carefully, counted the zippers, scanned for tears, but ultimately put them back. They all looked the same after a while. Then I saw it. A loud, kitschy, mink fur coat that looked to be a hundred years old. It reminded me of Nana Marie. She wore it to church every Sunday, except those two warm summer months when she simply wouldn’t go. “If God wanted us in church, he’d drive us in with bad weather,” she’d say while sunbathing in a large white hat, matching sunglasses, and a tight swimsuit she wasn’t the least bit ashamed to wear. If I was dramatic, and I was accused of such on more than one occasion, that’s who I got it from.  I pulled the coat from the rack and touched the hairs. They looked soft but felt course and looking closely, I saw the threading where the fur met the lining. Nana Marie would turn in her grave; it was faux.

Even faux, it was a hot tacky mess and full of flamboyant impracticality. There was no leaving it behind. With nothing in my cart except the coat, I strolled to the counter. The grey haired cashier pulled it closer and widened her eyes as if to say “this gaudy thing?” but quickly forced a smile.

She searched the sleeve ends and inner label “I don’t see a tag.”

“It was with the other coats.”

“I don’t think we have any others like it,” she chuckled and pressed a couple buttons on her register. “Five dollars.”

With an exchange of five whole dollars, my tacky coat and I parted ways with Second Best. The wind picked up and whistled through the tiny rip on my shoulder. Before I got to my car I pulled off my old parka and threw on the fury mess. It took a few minutes to warm the entirety of my car so I tucked my hands in my pockets to keep warm. That’s when I felt it. A gum wrapper, I assumed, based on the small, flimsy feel. Pulled from my pocket was a scrunched yellow paper. I carefully unwrapped it to see beautiful cursive penmanship scrolled across. Faded blue ink revealed the words "My answer is yes." I couldn’t stop thinking of Jesse.

He wore an ugly Christmas sweater, the kind that lit up with flashing lights around a stitched reindeer. It was my gift to him and the perfect one at that, according to him, which I knew it would be. Yet by the time he held out my gift, I wasn’t as self-assured. Seeing him on one knee in that flashing sweater, looking deliriously hopeful and equally ridiculous, I froze.

“You’re proposing?”

A nervous laugh escaped him, “I thought it was obvious.”

I stumbled over my words and set down my wine glass on the coffee table, only to miss the edge and have it shatter on the ground. I jumped and thanked God for the interruption. “I’ll get a towel.”

I left him there beside the tree, still kneeling with a ring in his hand. Never once in our years together did we discuss marriage and being suddenly faced with the proposition terrified me. We were happily comfortable. What if this changed everything?

“So, what do you say?” Jesse’s voice made me jump as I turned from the linen closet.

I unfolded and refolded the towel in my hands to avoid his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

The lights on his sweater illuminated the dark hallway in shades of red and green but his eyes somehow seemed darker. “I just need some time to think.”

He scoffed and my racing heart ached at the pain I was causing him. “Take your time.” His words were fixed with sarcasm as he turned away. The slamming of the front door followed him and despite the incoming blizzard and my remorse, I didn’t go after him.

I stared at the wrinkled paper in my hands. The letters were neat and feminine. Did the writer get too scared to deliver her message or did something stop her? Was the question something life changing or simple request? Yes to a first date? Yes to picking up milk on the way home? Did the intended recipient ever get the answer? I wondered if there was someone out there still waiting for an answer, someone like Jesse.

The dashboard clock read 11:45. I was almost out of time to get to the train station before he was gone until New Years. We couldn’t leave things like this. I didn’t want him to leave without knowing my answer. I just prayed I knew it too when I saw him.

I rushed to the station but it was nearly too late. A wave of relief filled me when I saw Jesse about to board. I called his name but he only glanced toward my direction and boarded the train with a hurriedness motivated by his desire to avoid me.

“Jesse, wait!” I ran towards him but was met with a large older man blocking me from reaching the first step.

“Do you have a ticket ma’am?”

The large older man, I realized, was the conductor. “I just need to speak to someone. It’ll only take a moment.”

He eyed me up and down like I was a loon. I didn’t blame him. I surely looked absurd in my heavy snow boots and outlandish faux mink coat. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you on without a ticket.”

“Can you give him a message for me? His name is Jesse. He’s wearing a dark coat and glasses.”

He looked at me with pity and nodded. “What’s the message?”

But I didn’t know. I thought I would but as I stood in the heavying snow, I found myself speechless.

“I um…” an icy chill hit me and I dug my cold hands into my pocket when I felt it again. I drew the note from my pocket and stared.

“Ma’am?” the conductor was growing impatient

Whoever the note was from or meant for, I didn’t want it to be lost again. “Can you give him this to him for me? Tell him it’s from Hannah.”

He took it between two fingers and dashed up the steps before I could steal more of his time. I watched the door close behind him and waited, hoping for a message from Jesse until the train pulled away from its station. I was left with nothing but remnants of fear and hope tangled into an intricate dance. Well, that and a new coat.